Replacement
by HK145
Summary: She never imagined she'd have to find her replacement.
1. Chapter 1

I always thought it was a little odd that Gillian, the woman who was capable of finding the good in the worst people she met and even sympathised with criminals, could not find even the smallest amount of good in Wallowski. Don't really like Shazza, but couldn't get this out of my head.

Don't owm LTM etc.

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I never imagined that finding my replacement would be easy. But then, until a few month ago I never even considered that i'd have to find someone to take my place. Never imagined there ever being a time where right by his side was not the place you would find me. So I never thought i'd be so willing to let someone slip into my shoes. Not like Zoe had done with me. Because thats what she did. All those years ago, she made a choice. She let me take her place. They might have seemed like the perfect family unit on the outside. It might have appeared that everything was as it should be to those whom they met. There would even be those who said that it was his relationship with me was the reason Zoe left. But it wasn't like that. They were over a long time before he met me. She was done with him, with them a long time before I arrived in their lives. But she stayed. She waited. She knew that leaving him, leaving him alone, it would hurt him in a way that would almost be irreparable. Would do damage to him like his mother before. Damage that she was sure would destroy him unless there was someone willing to try and put him back together again. So she stayed, and she watched, she waited. Waited until there was someone who could help him and eventually a cover up led him to require therapy. Eventually, he met me.

She could have stopped it, if she had wanted too. Could have put her foot down and told him to choose. And back then, even with fireworks flying from the moment we met, his loyalties were still to his family. To the woman who had given him meaning. Who had given him Emily. He would have chosen them. Chosen her. But she didn't ask him to make that choice. Despite all her stropping and storming around. Despite all her cursing and supposed distain for me, she let me in. Let me invaid their home, let me take over his life, let me become part of a family neither of us has realised we were looking for. Because that's where she needed me. Right at the center of their lives, right at the forefront of his life. Because I was her out. So she waited, she let me in. Let me become a part of their lives. Let me take her place. And she felt it, as we all did, the moment his loyalities changed. Felt the power of the moment when it became clear that I was the person he would choose, the person he would catch. When it became clear he would walk away from the woman who had given him the most a woman can give, in order to have me.

And that's when she left. When she knew it was over. When she knew it was me who could fill a void that she had never been able to fill. When she knew I was the one who was going to be able to pick up the pieces of him that would break as she walked away. When she knew I was the one who was going to be able to pick up the pieces of him that had broken long before her. When she knew I was the one. The one who would stay, no matter what. She let me replace her, let me be the one because she could see that's what I was. I was his missing piece, the person who could bring him back from whatever dark and twisted path his mother had set him on years ago. I was the person who would never judge him. Never question. Never faulter.

And for so long I was that, and despite everything I still am. As I search for my replacement there is no judgement, no questions. And I am as certain of my love for him as I have always been. Which is maybe what makes it easier. Knowing that it is love that is guiding my decisions. Love powering my steps away from him.

But the thing that makes it easiest is him. Because without him knowing that i'm searching for someone to fill the space beside him, he finds my replacement. Brings someone into our lives who I know, will be able to take my role beside him. If I push him hard enough.

Sharon Wallowski probably wouldn't have been my first choice. Something sits heavy in my gut, something telling me she's not worthy of him, but i'm working on a time restriction and so I find a way to accept her role in his life. Find a way to live with how one day, not long from now, people will mutter the question, 'have you seen Cal and Sharon' into the air I once breathed. Into the air that once belonged to Cal and I.

He's wary at first. Unsure how to respond to my so obvious destain for the detective. Unsure why i'm being so uncharacteristically 'bitchy'. Confused by my inability to see her as anything more than a bent cop. But then it changes. Me disliking her, it brings out something primal in him. Something he can't control. Like when you're a kid, and you're mean to the little girl you like because you don't know how else to act. Only we're not kids, and whatever buttons of mine he's hoping to press by having her hang around, whatever change in our relationship he's trying to bring about by dangling her infront on me backfires, and he ends up pushing himself further away from me and closer to her. Exactly as I knew it would.

They're so alike, him and her. More alike that him and I ever were. More alike than we ever could be. Me and him, we're cut from different matetial. That's one of the reasons we always worked so well, I thought. Because we were capable of seeing things in one another that we were simply incapable of finding in ourselves. That's why Zoe picked me. Because I was different. Different to him, but also different to her. She allowed me to take her space because I could see things she couldn't. Because I could see past who he pretended to be, and into the parts of him she couldn't ever find. She picked me because I was different to her, and that's what I was looking for in my replacement. Someone to be different to me. So that when he looks at her, he won't be faced with the memories that I know will threaten to plague him. When she takes her place next to him, he won't turn to her and be reminded of me.

We're more alike, Sharon and I, that I would have liked. Seem to both be driven by a desire to protect our partners whatever the cost may be. But, my time is limited, and so I focus on our differences. And justify our similarities until I can't see how they can be anything other than good. Cal needs someone who's willing to bend the rules, who's willing to look the other way. And she will. She won't do it for the same reasons I did, but she will do it none the less. So I push forward, accepting the detective in the knowledge that once i'm gone, she might just be able to keep him out of jail. Keep him safe. Keep my absence from being the end of him.

I expected it to take longer than it does. Expected my task to be unfinised by the time I have to leave. Expected him to fight for us harder, but it happens fast. Something in him understanding that I have a reason for my sudden change in attitude. Something in him knowing that I have good reasons for pushing him into the path of another woman. A woman I so obviously dislike. So he allows it, allows me to push him towards her. Doesn't fight me as I push him away from me.

So it happens quickly. And while it's exactly what i've been pushing for, when it does happen, I realise how unprepared I am for what it means. How unprepared I am for the ending of something that could have been so much more. How unprepared I am for the ending of the something that barely began.

It's a cold winters morning, the kind where the air is thick with the promise of snow. The kind that used to be my favourite, but for the short time I have left, will be tainted with the memories of losing him. The three of us are walking through a crime scene, and from the outside it would look like three collegues, three friends even. The three of us in a line, Cal centered as always, talking and splaying his arms around all over the place. It's this way, the way he's empowered and passionate about his work, his skill, that I will try and picture when I look back. As I remember him. To the ouside it would look normal, and not like a friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime, a friendship that was supposed to be so much more, is about to fall apart.

But that's what happens. It one small second, in one small reflex motion, everything i've been hoping for and dreading comes alive before my eyes. She takes my place. In perfect harmony, like someone somewhere had it all planned, we hit a patch of ice, and both her and I lose our footing. And after a brief second where our history threatens to override everything i've been pushing him towards, he reaches out and catches her. And as I fall to the floor, he pulls her upright, cementing her place beside him. A place that for so long belonged to me. A place that should have always belonged to me. But that's not the point anymore. The point is that by catching her he has someone, someone to help him heal. Someone to help him pick up the pieces that I will leave in my wake. Someone to pick up all the broken bits of him that I wish I wasn't going to cause by leaving. And as I land on the ground, surrounded by the broken bits of ice that if you look closely enough, appear to mimic the way my heart is breaking, I realise that while it happened alot quicker than I thought, alot quicker than I would have liked, it's time.

And yet, there's a look on his face, an immediate remorse and regret in his eyes as he turns to find me on the floor, and instant offering of his hand and gentleness of his touch as he locks his fingers around mine and pulls me to my feet that has me concerned. Because the warmth of this touch spreading across my skin from fingers he won't remove from my arms, the pain on his face as he realises he saved her instead of me, the way he so quickly turned away from her, it screams something I don't want to see. It screams that i'm the one. Screams that there can be others by his side, but he will always want me. Screams that no matter who I push him towards, no matter who I make him think he should catch, I am the person his heart will long to save.

But my time is running out, which means it has to he her. So, with tears burning my eyes, and my secret threatening to tumble from my lips and ruin everything, I shake my head, and shrug off the unease that is sitting heavy in my stomach.

I'm running out of time. So she has to be the one. He has to save her, has to want to save her, has to want her. He has to stop looking at me with love and regret and a million other things in his eyes. He has to stop looking back at me, and start looking forward. He has to let go of me, and keep holding onto her.

Because I can't be the one anymore. I have to go, and he can't come with me. I have to go, and he has to stay.

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 _Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Was going to do this as a one shot, but might add another chapter if people want one. Reviews appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

What was once going to be a oneshot, seems to have taken on a life of it's own inside my head and will have aleast another two chapters are this one. Hope you enjoy this next installment.

Don't own LTM, etc.

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I take the long way back from the crime scene. I drive slowly throught the streets, taking unnecessary turns, taking roads that lead me in the wrong direction. I meander through the city, as if I have don't have a care in the world, giving her the time I know she needs. She's not one for long drawn out goodbyes. Hasn't been since it took them nearly three days to take Sophie. Broke her heart that did. Was worse for her than if they'd just showed up and taken her. But they didn't. They called and explained the situation. How they'd be taking her daughter away, but they'd give her time to say goodbye. Three days to say goodbye. Three excruitiatingly painful days where she was a mother and not a mother all at once. So she doesn't like long goodbyes, can barely stomach goodbyes at all. Which is why I take so long to find my way back to the office.

There was a look on her face, as I helped her off the ground. A look as she bit her tongue and held back tears. A look as she shrugged her shoulders and turned away from me. A look that i've spent months knowing was coming, and months wishing it would never arrive. A look that signalled the end. A look that begged me to make it easy for her.

It's my fault really. Not that she's leaving, her minds been made up about that for a while now. But it's my fault she's leaving today. My fault that it's happening now, when i'm still so unprepared. Still so uncertain as to why she has to leave at all.

But it's what she wants. What she needs to do. I know that much. Have been reading it off her since the moment she decided. Since the moment she started pushing me towards Wallowski. Since the moment she decided that the detective was going to be her replacement. She thinks I don't know. Thinks I don't see what she's doing. She thinks she's clever, thinks she has it all figured out. But I know. Know that her hatred, her disgust, is tailored for me. Designed to push me towards Sharon and away from her. In the beginning I tried to fight it. Unwilling to be sucked into whatever game she decided we were going to play. But it becomes clear very quickly that it's no game. She's not testing me, or trying to prove some point about how I should appreciate her more, thank her more. She's leaving, and she needs someone to take her place. She's leaving and she needs someone to fill the void she know's she's going to leave. I don't understand her motives, don't understand what has so suddenly driven her to want to leave me, but I understand how serious she is. How sure she is that this is something she has to do. So I play along. I dangle Sharon infront of her, I push buttons. I do everything she expects me to do, everything she needs me to. It's the least I can do, after everything she's done for me. I owe her my life, owe her everything, so if this is how she wants goodbye to be, then this is how it will be.

They slip, and it's so perfectly timed, so in unison that if it wasn't for everything that transpires from the moment, it probably would have been funny. They slip, and I automatically reach for her. Because she's who I want to save. Who I want to stop crashing to the ground. Who history has my muscles reacting too. But as I shoot my hands out to catch her, my eyes find hers and I know that this is the moment. This is where she needs her game needs to end. So I turn away, and I grab Sharon, pulling her steady before she has time to even realise whats happened. Before she has time to realise that by helping her, I have lost the only woman who has ever really meant something. The only woman who has ever really known me.

She crashes to the ground, and I turn and find her surrounded by shards of ice that may not be touching me but are piercing my heart none the less. I did what she wanted, I let her fall. Let her think that by catching Sharon, her replacement was certain. Let her think that my actions mean more than they do. Let her think that she's been replaced, when she's the most irreplacable person I know. I did what she wanted. Did what she needed me to do, but that does not mean i'm going to leave her down there. Not going to leave her broken and bruised on the floor. I reach down and lock my fingers with hers, and pull her to her feet. Pull her into her rightful position next to me, even if she thinks it doesn't belong to her anymore. Even if she needs it to not belong to her anymore.

And yet, she hesitant. As she stands next to me, her fingers still locked in mine, there's doubt lining her features. Her eyes darting between our fingers and my face. There's a battling raging inside her, something threatening to break. I can see it, and I can feel it too. Feel the weight of the moment as she decides whether to let the secret that is burning her lips escape. Feel as she battles with whatever demon she has, whatever evil she's letting drive her away from me. For a minutes i'm hopeful, for a minute I think she's winning. Think she's winning her fight with the monster inside, think she's going to let me in. Let me help her escape her chains. But then she shakes her head and walks away, and I know she is lost to me forever.

So I take the long ride back to the office, knowing her hatred for goodbyes. Knowing that she needs time to pack up her things. Time for her to give reasons to the other's she will be leaving, in her bid to be rid of the life we have built together. Rid of the future I had hoped we were building. I drive the long way back to the office, knowing all the while exaclty what i'm going to find when I arrive. I drive the long way back to the office hating myself every second of my drawn out journy. Hating myself for giving her this time to pack her things without being under my gaze. Hating myself for not questioning her. Hating myself for not being able to help her slay whatever dragon has got her trapped. Hating myself for not delaying this. For catching Sharon and giving her an out when i'm completely unprepared for her absence. Hating myself for not trying to change her mind, not trying to stop her going, when all I want is for her to be able to stay. By the time I pull into the car park, which is empty of her car, I even hate myself for loving her. Hate myself for loving her too much, so much that i'm willing to let her go.

I ride the elevator to our floor, all the time whispering a silent prayer to a god I long ago gave up on. A prayer that i'm wrong and that her car was just parked out of sight. A prayer that what I read on her face at the crime scene was not what she was actually showing. A prayer that her silent goodbye did not carry the weight I know it did. That the doors are going to open and she's going to be standing there, one hand of her hip, demanding to know what the hell took me so long to get back here. Het back to her. But as the doors ping open, and i'm met with the concerned faces of our staff, which I now suspect are just my staff, I know that she's not here. And deep down, in a part of my heart that I never thought she would access, a part of my heart that I never thought she would cause pain to, I know that she's never going to be in these offices again.

They begin to fire questions at me, confusion in their voices. But there's one voice that stands out to me. One voice that I hear over all the others. It's Torres. She immediately starts hurling accusations, demanding to know what it is i've done to cause the woman who has kept her here, the woman who has kept them all here, to leave. Demanding to know what it is i've done to cause the woman who has stood by me through everything i've ever done, the woman who has stood by me through things no-one should stay through, to finally throw in the towel. And under normal circumstances, I would fire some quick remark back at her. Tell her to shove off and mind her own business. But these aren't normal cirstance. So this time I have nothing. Because while I know what it is that caused today to be the day she packed her things and left, know that letting her fall the floor is what made today goodbye, on the rest of it i'm stumped. I have absolutely no clue, not even the faintest idea what it is the set these particular events into motion. Not even the smallest incling as to what it is that made her decide she was done. So I have nothing to give Torres. No quick witted retort. No answers. And without a word, I walk away from them all. My feet carrying me on auto pilot, until I am safe inside her space. A place that was once her sanctuary. A place where we would unwind together, sharing secrets into the early hours. A place that is now nothing more than another empty office.

She's not been gone long, and so the air still smells like her. The perfume she's worn since i've known her, still lingering in the air and taking over my senses. I can still feel her presence in the air, and as I fall into the chair behind her now bare desk, I can help but wonder how long it will be before it's like she never owned this space. How long it will be before I can no longer feel her, no longer smell her. How long it will be before her presence is nothing more than a distant memory.

How long it will be before the most important woman in my life becomes nothing more than a dream. Nothing more than a dream, that I know will haunt me like a nightmare.

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 _Thanks for reading, and to those of you who reviewed the last chapter your comments were really appreciated and I hope you enjoyed this next piece of the story._


	3. Chapter 3

Don't own LTM, etc.

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He let me walk away. Gave me time to pack up my things and say my goodbyes to our staff; his staff. He keeps his distance, allowing me to walk away from what I thought was forever. He did what I needed him to do. Made it easier for me to carry out the hardest task of my life. Leaving him. And while it's what I wanted, what I needed from him, part of me can't help but break that he didn't storm my office and try and stop me. Didn't try to ply the secrets from my lips. But while it broke my heart, I'm grateful he didn't follow me back to the office, because as I packed the last of my things into my car, as I took one last look at the building the holds the biggest part of my life, I know that if has been there, I would have cracked. If he had been there with me, looking at me with eyes that watch with such intent, such focus, that I often feel transparent, I would have broken down and let him in. Let him know everything that had been happening. Everything that was driving me. Everything that I kept hidden from him. Everything that is still driving me, everything that I am still keeping from him by hiding myself from him.

It's been four weeks, and Emily calls nearly every day. Begging me to come back. Pleading with me to tell her where I am, so if I won't come to them, they can come to me. If I won't come back him, then he will come to me. Where-ever I am. No matter what is that caused me to leave, to hide myself from him, he doesn't care. Her voice catches with emotion and pain as she tells me of how broken he is. How defeated he seems. My heart breaks for what i'm putting her through, what i'm putting him through, as she tells me how she doesn't know how to help him. How she doesn't know how to fix what I have broken within him. How she doesn't know if anyone will be able to fix the damage I have done to his already fragile heart. And when her begging doesn't work, when her pleading appears to warrant no reaction from me, when her pain sees her gaining no results, the she tries something else. The anger and hatred that she spits through the phone threatens to break the little resolve I have left. Threatens to send me and my secret tumbling back into their lives begging for forgiveness. But I try and box away my feelings, try to feel as little as possible as the venom behind her words shreds my already fragile skin, until I am sure there is nothing of the Gillian they knew left. It's usually this point in the call where he makes himself known. Where he moves into her space and stops her from continuing. He never takes the receiver from her though, never attempts to change things himself. Respecting our history, respecting everything we went through. Apparently still caring about me enough to not try and break me himself. I can hear him telling her she has said enough. Hear him as he reminds her of all I can hear in her voice. Hear him as he tells her that she'll regret the way she's spoken to me in a matter of seconds. Regret the way her voice will be making me feel, where ever it is I am.

She walks away then. Leaves the phone connected though. Hoping that by leaving me there, on the other end of the line, he won't be able to resist picking it up and talking to me himself. He never does though. It's the same every night. Silence, except for the distant sound of his breathing. He always waits a few moments though, something seemingly stopping him disconnecting the call straight away. I wish I had a direct line into his thoughts. Wish I had the abilities to somehow be able to hear what is it that's going round his head as he leaves us in limbo for a few moments. But I don't, and so I spend the seconds he gives us filling the silences myself. Imagining all the different things he might say, the different things I might say, if he ever did decide to pick up the phone and speak directly to me. But he doesn't. The closest I ever get to him, the closest we ever get to connecting is the second before he disconnects the call. The second before he cuts me off. It's the same every time. I don't know whether he thinks I can't hear him. Whether he thinks that he's already cut me off, and his words are falling into an empty space between him and his phone. But I hear it. I hear it every time, as he whispers 'I forgive you, love' before the line cuts off.

And every night after the line goes dead, after he dissapears from me for another night, I fall apart. Because he won't forgive me. Not when it happens. Not when my time runs out and he finds out the truth. He won't forgive me. He'll never forgive me. But I have a small amount of hope that when the truth comes out, when he finally discovers the reasons behind my leaving, he'll understand. He may not forgive me, but he'll understand. He may not forgive, but my reasons will make sense to him. He may not forgive me but he'll understand that everything I did, was for him. To make it easier for him.

Its the same every night. The same calls. The same begging and anger from Emily. The same silence and then simple whispers from him into a line that only seems to lead him further from me. And every night, until long after his forgiveness slips from his lips and into my broken body, I fall asleep, sobbing silently into my pillow. And as I slip into another night to restlessness I place what little faith and resolve I have left in Sharon. In her abilities to be able to pick him up off the floor I will end up leaving him on. In her strength to push him past my memory. In her being able to put him back together, after my truth tares him down.

It's the same every night, until I know we've reached the end. That night, I don't answer her call. That night i'm unable to pick up and hear the pain in her voice. Unable to find the strength to hear her tare me apart. That night i'm unable to pick up and hear his forgiveness, because I know that come morning, he will have no forgiveness left. That night I am unable to pick up her call, because I know that I would break. I would tell them where I am, beg the to come running to me. Beg him to save me from something that I cannot be saved from. That night I am unable to pick up her call, because I know that I would undo everything I have tried so hard to do. Everything I have tried so hard to save him from.

So I let it ring. Over and over until she gives up, until there is no noise left but my laboured breathing and the steady beep of the machines. And just before I close my eyes, before I give in to the monster that has me trapped, the monster that has taken me away from them, from him, my phone buzzes beneath my fingers. One new voicemail. I consider not listening to it, but deep down I know I can't. Can't leave without hearing her final words to me. Can't leave without hearing the words that come morning, she will never be able to forget. So I hit play, and bring the phone to my ear, preparing myself for her to take the last little bit of me as she tries to bring me back to them. As she tries to fix the dysfunction family we had become. What I get is something completely different. It's his voice that cuts through the speaker, breaking into the room that has held me prisioner since I left him.

"Gill, love", his messge begins and what little is left of me breaks as I hear my name fall from his lips.

"I never asked why you had to do this, never questioned why you had to leave. I figured after everything you sacraficed for me, I owed you a clean break, owed you a fresh start somewhere".

He paused before continuing,

"But that isn't what this is, is it love".

He sounds so unsure, so vulnerable, so unlike the man I left behind that I realise I never truely appreciated how he cared for me. Never understood the true magnitued of what my absence would do to him. What I would take from him when I left.

"I don't know where you are darlin', and I understand that you don't want me to. But you need to know something Gill, need to hear it before it's too late. Where ever you are, whatever you are going through, know you are not alone. I'm with you love, i'll always be with you".

His voice wobbles, cracking with emotion i've never heard on him. He draws in a long breathe before he finds the strength he needs to whispers his last few words.

"You're irreplacable, love. Completely and utterly irreplacable. Always will be. I love you. Always will, darlin".

And then he clicks off his phone and the line goes dead. And once again i'm left with nothing.

That night, that final night, instead of falling into a restless sleep wrapped in guilt and fear for his future, I allow myself to be guided by memories of our past. Memories of a time when we were happy; when our life together was full of hope. Our relationship full of possibility. And as my breathing becomes weaker, as I find it harder to pull in oxygen into a body that holds nothing more than a ghost of who I was, there is nothing but his voice. Nothing but his words carrying me to safety. Nothing but his emotions, his feelings for me. Nothing but him carrying me away from the monsters, and away from the fear that has plagued me since this all began.

That night, there is nothing. Nothing but Cal, until there is simply nothing at all.

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 _Thankyou for reading. I found this chapter hard to write, but sometimes the Callian stories can't have a happy ending. Don't hate me for where this story has gone. Next chapter is in the works, and will be up soon._


	4. Chapter 4

Don't own LTM.

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The sun is just rising as the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence of my home. A silence that has been holding me in limbo since I left the voicemail on her cell. I know who it's going to be, long before I open the door and meet their grim faces. I've known they were going to be coming. I just didn't know when. Didn't know how long it would take them to find the people she wanted notified. Didn't know if I was even going to be one of those people.

I felt it happen. It sounds crazy. Sound unbelievable. Sounds like the rambling of a mad man. But then maybe that's what I am now. Maybe that's what her leaving has done to me. What her being gone has done to me. Stripped me of everything I was, everything she made me and left me with nothing but a madness that I will not be able to escape. I felt it. Not long after I left the voicemail. Not long after I tried to hold her, tried to comfort her with words that i'll never know if she heard. I felt it not long after I tried to get to her before it was too late. I felt the shift. Felt the way my life moved around me. Felt the way my world collapsed from under me. She may have been absent. May have walked away from me. May have tried to remove herself from the life we had together, but I still had her. We were connected in a way that she couldn't undo. So I could still sense her presence. Could still hear her, still feel her in everything I did. She may have left, but she wasn't gone. Not properly. Not like now.

So I don't need the men who are standing at my door. I don't need to hear their words. Don't need to read their faces. Don't need to see their expressions twist into ones of sadness, remorse, grief for a woman they didn't know. For a woman they will never know. A woman that no-one new will ever know. I don't need to hear the words that fall from their mouths to understand what has happened. Because I can feel it in my chest. In the way my heart is beating slower and faster all at once. In the way it's trying to do it's job with part of it missing. I can feel her absence, feel the way she is gone. Can feel her light missing from this world, in every part of who I am.

My mind is working over time, overtaking my body and flooding my senses with her. Everything and anything her. It gives me everything is has, every memory, every detail that it can find in the darkness that is already growing within me. I try and commit it all to a place I won't forget it. To a place inside me where it is safe from the twists of time. To a place inside me where she will be safe from the evil this world will try to replace her with. But even as I try to lock her away, lock away her smell, lock away the way her eyes told a million stories, the way her hair framed her face and moved with her, as I lock away the memory of her heart and how it was capable of a love like no other, I am painfully aware of how, there will come a time when I do not remember how she smelt, do not remember how her voice sounded. I am painfully aware of how, despite there being no-one in this world who could ever take her place, no-one in this world who will come close to holding a place within me like she does, there will come a time where I cannot picture her. Cannot conjour up her face without an image to help me. There will come a time where life twists and turns until it was like she never really existed. Like I never really knew her. Never shared with her all that I am. And the pain of it sits heavy on my chest. It winds it's way around my heart until it takes the little life I have left in me and has me choking on a grief so powerful I know I will never recover. A grief so poweful, so unlike anything i've ever felt that I know it will shape my every decision. A grief so intense, so consuming that I know every moment of my life from here on out will be defined by it.

I can't catch my breath, can barely remember how to breathe, can barely think of a reason to fight the pain, can barely focus on anything. It isn't until the heart wrenching scream rips through the living room that I remember I have to go on. I have a reason to go on. In all my panic, in all the grief that I had been wrapped up in since I left the voicemail, since I felt the shift, I had forgotten Emily was here. Forgotten that there was someone else in the house. Forgotten there was someone else, someone who would be listening to the worlds falling from the officers mouths. Someone that would be hanging on their every word as they spoke the most ugly of truth. As they reveal to her an end that she is completely unprepared for. An end she hadn't seen coming. And end, that even with all the hints, all the signs, I hadn't seen coming. Not until it was too late. Not until all there was left for me to do what leave a voicemail, and I hope it reached her in time. I turn and find her doubled over. Curling into herself. The loss ripping through her. Grief manifesting itself in a physical pain like nothing she has ever felt. Like nothing she will experience again. I stand watching her. Watching her as she tries to rip herself out of her own body, tries to remove herself from a mind that now holds the most heartbreaking of information.

I stand watching her, and I am utterly helpless. I'm at a complete loss at how to help her. How to fix what is breaking within her. How to sooth a wound so deep, I know it will leave scars within her that she will never be able to outgrow. How to stop the screams that are uncontrollably leaving her. And as I stand there watching her with tears pouring down my face, mirroring the tears that are marking hers, I realise that there is only one person who would know how to help. Who would know how to fix what is breaking before my eyes. Only one person who could find the answers to this impossible puzzle. Only one person I would call to help me piece my daughter back together. Only one person I would trust with mending something as valuable as Emily's heart.

But that person is gone. And I am lost.

* * *

 _Still finding this awful to write. I would say I hope you enjoyed, but somehow I don't think this fic is one that brings sunshine and rainbows. Hope you stick with me. Any reviews are truely appreciated (thankyou for those of you who have left me kind words)!_


	5. Chapter 5

The funeral is beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful. There's a simplicity about it, that mirrors exactly who she is. Who she was. Before her life was so cruely taken from this world. Before her light, her passion was snuffed out long before it should have been. The flowers are white lillies. Her favourite. They fill every spare space, taking over every empty crevice until the church looks more like a wedding than what it really is. More like a celebration than the heartbreaking goodbye that none of us are ready to face. But that's fitting in a way too. Because she deserves to be celebrated. Her life, her beauty, everything she was should be seen for what it was. She should be remembered, should be celebrated for who she was, and not the tragic shortness of her life.

Em gets up infront of everyone, finding a stength from somewhere deep within that allows her to give them all that she has left. It's strength that reminds me so much of Gill that it knocks the wind out of me. Forces me to see past Zoe, past myself, until all I see is how alike they are. How much Em takes after her. She does a reading. A poem of a daughter seeking forgiveness from her mother. She faulters over some of the words, her system being flooded by the memories of the last words they spoke. Of the cruel way she filled her voice with venom as she tried to get her to come back. She shakes with anger, at herself, for the words she cannot take back. The words that will haunt her forever. Tears line her cheeks as her carefully chosen poem twists into a public apology. Her words directed at the coffin, her heart seeking comfort, needing forgiveness from the woman the wood holds.

I watch as she falls apart in front of everyone. Watch as she lets go of her strength and allows her walls to be broken down by her proximity to Gill. Watch as she delicately places a hand on the cold, glossy wood as she struggles with knowing they will never be this close again. And as I watch, as I take in the moment, I realise that here, right now, she is not my daughter. She does not belong to me. Nor does she belong to Zoe. She belongs to Gillian. And maybe she always has done in a way. They shared something so pure, so honest, that i'm sure I will never understand it. So I don't move from my seat in the front row. Don't reach out to touch her. To try and offer comfort. I sit and watch as she silently reaches down and presses her lips onto the surface of the coffin. Watch as she transforms before my eyes, turning into someone I do not recognise. Watch as she becomes a little girl once more. A vulnerable, broken little girl whispering goodbye to her mother. Because that's what Gillian was. They may not have shared the same blood. They may not have had a piece of paper that made it legal. But they were family. They were mother and daughter. And her death will never change that.

As she takes her seat beside me once more, I reach out for her hand, trying to offer her something, anything, but she shys away from my touch. And in that moment, she becomes unreachable to me. Because in this moment, there is nothing I can do to ease her pain. Part of her has died with Gillian. So there is nothing I can to to make her heart whole again. Nothing I can do but be here, holding the pieces of her that she has left behind while she travels the dark searching for her mother. Nothing I can do but wait for the day she is brave enough to come up for air. Brave enough to live in a world without her. Nothing I can do but wait. Wait until the day that Gillian returns her too me.

But as I watch the coffin dissapear, watch as the box that is holding both of my most precious possessions is taken from me, I can't help but wonder whether Emily will actually ever come back to me. I can't help but wonder whether there will be anything left of me if she ever does. I can't help but wonder whether this might just be the end for all of us.

* * *

I don't know what is it that took her from me. It's been three weeks since she left us, two week since we burried her and i'm still no closer to discovering what evil it is that snatched her right out from under me. That was her final request apparently. For me not to be told her secret. Not to be given access to the demons she couldn't beat. She was very specifc about it. Or so i've heard. From her lawyer. From the officers who notified me. She left no instructions about how she want her funeral to be. No requests for music or flowers. No plans to guide us on how to let her go. We had to figure that one out on our own. She left nothing but a simple statement; "Don't tell Cal what happened to me". And they honour her wishes, leaving me flailing around in the dark.

I don't know whether to be angry or thankful. Don't know whether I should hate her for it, or love her more beause of it. Can't work out whether she was protecting me from something, or whether she didn't trust me enough to let me in on her final moments. Let me be a part of the final seconds that made up the ending of her. I change my mind alot. The question of why and all its possible answers circling round my brain, taking over my mind as sleep evades me. Which is most nights.

I can pretend pretty well in the day. My focus on Emily, and trying to guide her through a pain that has grabbed her with both hands and is refusing to let her go. That has wrapped her in chains so tight, that I wonder how she will ever be able to escape them. I give her everything I have left, everything of me that has not been engulfed by the emptiness that Gill has left in her wake. It's what she'd want me to do. She'd want me to fight to the death to bring Em back. If it had been the other way around, had been me that had been taken so suddenly, I know she would have fought with everything she had to restore some light to my daughters eyes. Our daughters eyes. So after the funeral, after too many glasses of scotch that are tainted with memories of her that i'm trying to escape, I make a silent promise into the night. A silent promise to her that this will not be our ending. That I will do what she would want, and try and make it better. So I attempt to ease Ems' suffering, even when I am incapable of easing my own. Not that it works. My attempts are all in vein. Because there is nothing I can say, nothing I can do to give her what she wants. Nothing I can do to bring back Gill.

But come night, i'm alone. Em's down the hall, locked in her room battling the night and the new waves on pain that it brings. Fighting the darkness and the way the edge of sleep brings a ghost so real, that just for a minute you believe that she isn't really gone. And so i'm alone. With nothing but my thoughts. Nothing but the memories of her, and all the unanswered questions that her actions have left me with. My brain unwilling to move on from it's search to find out why this had to happen. What caused this to happen. Because I have to know. I need answers to the questions that course through my body every second of the day.

Why she couldn't let me in.

Why she walked away when she could have come to me. When she should have come to me.

Why she didn't let me try and help her.

Why she didn't trust me to save her.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Every time I think this story is reaching the end, my brain takes me somewhere else and another chapter appears. This story will still end the way I always planned, we just seem to be going on a slightly longer journey to get there. Hope some of you are still with me, and aren't getting too depressed/bored with all the sadness!_


	6. Chapter 6

Time moves differently here. In an office building that once homed a group of passionate and lively workers. An office building that is now a refuge for people damaged by a tradegy. People wounded almost beyond repair by a woman who had more impact on them than she ever knew.

Time moves differently here. The outside world slipping away the second you cross the threshold. The usually minutes and hours falling away to mean nothing. They measure their time around her. Some of them in how many days it's been since her funeral. Others in how many days it's been since her passing. A small number take it right back, to the day she packed her bags and walked away. Something that they still don't have an explanation for. It doesn't matter which way they do it, which point they choose as their defining moment. Their methods of time keeping all come back to her. Are all centered in the peramiters of her absence. All tangled up in her ghost, in her memory, that haunts their once lively space.

Time moves differently here, for them and for me. But i'm different. I'm not measuring time in the days it's been since she left, since grief took hold, and shook the foundation of a life they believed was strong. Shook the foundation of a life they believed could weather any storm. I'm measuring my time in the days it's been since I took her call. Since the day I receiver my instructions. Since the day she invited me to meet her, and placed every last ounce of who she was in my care.

* * *

I took her call six weeks ago. The day after the whole slip and fall incident that started the final part of her plan. A plan I knew nothing about until I sat down with her. The day after she walked out of her job, out of her life, without so much as a word. When her name flashes on my caller ID I consider not answering. Consider letting her go to voicemail. But i'm intregued. Because as far as i've been able to tell from the whisperings and gossip that was swirling round the group that day, no-one knows why she's gone. Or where she's gone. Not even Cal. Which raises the questions, why is she phoning me. So I let my curiosity get the better of me. And by picking up the phone, I put the last part of her plan in to motion.

I agree to meet her, and she rushes an address i've never heard before through the phone and is gone. I drive the streets, until i'm on the outskirts of town and outside a boutique hotel that until this moment I didn't know exsisted. A beautiful boutique hotel that is now a permenant part of my memory. I follow her instructions and let my legs carry me until i'm stood infront of her room. Fifty-Three. A part of me wishes i'd never knocked on the door. Never discovered the reasons she wanted me here. But I did knock. And she answered.

I'm not sure what I thought I was going to find when I got here. Not sure what answers I was looking for. What truth I was preparing for. But as she swings open the door, and my eyes land upon her, I know that my imagination has not come close to the truth of what she has to say. Her hair is thrown on top of her head, with whispy bits falling to frame a face which is completely bare of makeup. Gone are the heals and the tight dresses that i'm used too. The outfits that cling to her in all the right places. The outfits that have Cal captivated. She looks younger like this, I think. Stripped back. Stripped bare. And it brings out a vulnerability in her that i've been yet to see. Her natural beauty hidden behind the makeup she clearly doesn't need. And yet, there's something darkening her features and removing the youth her freckles bring to her face. There's something haunting her eyes, ageing her before me. And it causes the first stirings of fear to sit heavy in my stomach.

"Wine?", she offers as she allows me into the room, as the door clicks shut. Trapping me in this room, until she has said her piece. Trapping us together until she reveals to me the reasons I am here.

She watches as my expressions twist into a rejection of her offering. She see's the 'no' before it has time to form on my lips. I've driven here, and I intend to drive away too. And I want a clear head. Want to be able to remember every detail of the conversation that I know is to come. Something tells me i'm going to need to have a clear recollection of the words she speaks tonight. She watches me shake my head, silently answering her even though I know I don't need too. She can see it all. She shrugs, seemingly accepting my response, before pouring two large glasses of an overly expensive red and extending one out to me. I don't know whether to accept. She knows I don't want one, so I don't understand. Don't know whether this is some kind of test, some kind of game that I am yet to receive the rules too. Of course, my thoughts play out on my face and don't escape her watchful eyes. Cal is so overpowering, so forceful in his observations of people, that I often forget that's she can do it too. Often forget that she's good; sometimes better than him. She moves the glass in my direction again, careful not to spill the contents onto the cream carpet we stand on, and answers the questions I have not voiced.

"Trust me", she sighs quietly as I reach forward and take the glass from her hand that has begun to shake, "you're going to need it".

And I know, from the way her body deflates as she turns away from me, from the way she clutches her own glass like it's a comfort blanket, that I am unprepared. About to be caught completely off guard. I know, that whatever has brought me to her hotel tonight, is not going to be good. Know that whatever has her calling me instead of Cal, is about to change everything.

She explains everything she has been doing these last few weeks. Explains how she's pushed him towards me. Feined a hatred and disgust that she knew would intrigue him enough to keep me around. Used my presence to ensure he is not alone. Ensure that she is replaced. I should feel used. Feel like a pawn in some twisted game I never asked to be part of. But I don't. Because it wasn't meant to be mallicious. Wasn't mean to cause me pain. She did it to save her him. Save her partner. Did it to save a man who doesn't even know he needs to be saved.

She explain to me why it has to be this way. Tells me about the promise she made to him years ago. The promise that she would not leave him, the way others had done before her. The promise that allowed her to put him back together. The promise that keeps him from dissapearing into the dark parts of himself. The promise that keeps him alive. She tells me about his mother. Shares with me the tragic history that he has built his life around. About the damage that she fights daily, in order to keep it from taking over him. And the more she talks about the guilt he carries at being unable to save his mother, the more her words paint a picture of a man who has the fragile heart of a scared little boy, a man who is held together not by glue but by Gillian herself I start to understand why she wants it to be this way. Why she thinks it has to be this way.

But that doesn't mean she's right. Doesn't mean this is the only way. I try and argue with her. Try and make her see that there are other options. Other's way to help him throught this. Other ways to protect him from the pain she knows her permenant absence is going to cause.

"You can't do this to him. He'll never forgive you", I shout, the words falling from my mouth before I can stop it. But it's falling on deaf ears. I can feel it in the way she doesn't flinch. Doesn't try to shy away from my outburst. It's in the way she holds us suspended in silence long after my voice stops ecohing round the room. In the way she lets the air hang heavy between us. But then she speaks, and everything shifts.

"I don't need him to forgive me", she whispers. "I just need him to survive".

She sounds so broken. So fragile. So unlike the woman I've come to know over the last few weeks. So unlike the woman they all worship. The woman Cal lives for. And in that split second I know. Know that I will do all that she asks. Everything I can to fulfil her wishes. Because she's breaking, right in front of me, and I am the only person around to catch the pieces of her she wishes to leave behind. The only person to catch the pieces of who she is, before they disapear and are lost to the world forever. The only person she thinks strong enough to carry her through his grief. The only person she thinks is able to take the pieces of her, take her decisions, and use them to keep him alive.

* * *

G _lad this section is finished! This fic started with Gillian picking her replacement, and while it deals with Cal and Emily and all their grief, it does have to circle back to Wallowski in order for her motivations to become clear. But god, trying to get inside Wallowski's head long enough to get a decent chapter is hard enough, without the added darkness that this Gillian is bringing to everything. Hope you all enjoyed and that I managed to create an interaction that was believable between the two that we barely saw together!_


	7. Chapter 7

She's pacing outside the office, and she's been doing the same all day. I hear her feet going back and forth outside the door, can see her shadow on the floor through the glass. She does it for a few minutes, before she stops and walks away. The noise of her shoes dissapearing into one of the back rooms she commands most of the time now.

She smothers sometimes. Pushes, trying to get me to open up. The pathetic 'are you ok?' ready to tumble from her lips at any given moment. Despite how i'm so obviously anything but ok that it if wasn't so damn painful, would be laughable. And if I thought it was annoying when Gill did it, then you can only imagine how much is pisses me off when some bent cop who doesn't know the last thing about me does it. The staff wonder why she's here. Why I keep her around. I don't have the heart to give them an answer. Don't have the strength to tell them that the only reason I put up with her is because it was one of the last decisions Gill made that I was clear on. I don't understand it. Don't get what was going through her head that made her think that Wallowski was what I would want. Be what I would need. But she did. That much was clear. I've analysed our final days together over and over. Gone through ever second of every moment. Every movement she made; every word she said; every tiny reflex that have face gave me engraving itself onto my every thought. So I know that she wanted me to keep Wallowski around. Wanted me to have Walloswki by my side in the aftermath of her. So I let her stay. Let her work from our rooms instead of the station. Let her attempt to smother, and boss me around. Let her attempt to fill the shoes of a woman she will never be worthy of. It drives me insane. But I do it. Because it's what Gill wanted. She may be gone, but I don't want to dissapoint her. She may be gone, but I can't turn my back on her.

Which is how i've ended up in a sitation like this. With Wallowski pacing and walking away. With wallowski returning and walking away again. Dissapearing before anything more than her shadow has come into sight. I'm about to go out there and lose it with her. Tell her to bugger off. Tell her to go and hide herself somewhere where I can't find her. Can't see her or hear her. Somewhere I don't have to be reminded that i'm stuck with her, rather than with the person I really want. About to go out there and remind her that she knows the rules. When i'm in here, in this particular space, i'm not be be disturbed.

But before I have chance, the door swings open and she steps inside. I hate it instantly. Hate the presence of someone who does not belong filling the air, and threatening to erase what little left of Gillian there is. No one has set foot in here since she left, bar me, and that's they way I intended to keep it. And she knows this. They all do. Some i'm done. I'm ready to let rip, tare her apart; to hell with repsecting Gills wishes. And then I see it. And I stop dead. My eyes refusing to look at anything but the delicately wrapped package in her hands. The paper is white. Her favourite colour. She told me that not long after we first met. I'd had her pegged for a pink or red kind of woman. Her love of romance novels and all things corny guiding me towards her loving anything that supposedly symbolised love. But it's white. Was white. She was very clear. Said something about how there were endless possibilities that came with it's simplistic beauty. White, she'd said. You can't escape it's honestly. Full of endless surprised she was, and I remember thinking about how many things there were about her that I was yet to learn. How many things there were I could not wait to discover. How lucky I was that she wanted me to know even the simplest things about her.

She clears her throat, dragging me back to reality, and away from the simple yet beautiful memory of Gill. I want to be angry at her for dragging me away, but i'm not. Because I can see she has a purpose. Has a valid reason for being here. A reason for disturbing me in my sanctuary. She shifts from one foot to the other, and as she does the package tips forward slightly. And that's when I see it. See the label that holds my name. 'Cal' breaking the white paper, her beautiful script standing strong against the clean white background. I suck in a breath. Unsure how i'm supposed to feel, unsure of how to form words when i'm faced with her writing once more. I've avoided the files that she'd handwritten. Avoided her neat scribblings in margins. It being too crushing to see her words come to life on paper. Too damaging to look at her thoughts and know that she'll never have any again.

I guess Wallowski can sense my discomfort. The unease. The waves of grief that are rolling over me and rendering me speechless, and so she doesn't wait. She just opens her mouth, and finds the words that she's held within her. Finds the words she'd promise to hold onto until the time was right. Finds the words that I didn't know excisted, yet alone lived inside her of all people.

"She said there would come a time where the shock wore off. Where her being gone, it became a reality". She paused and as her words reach my ears, and I process what her voice is saying my head snaps up. My eyes leaving the package she's holding for the first time since they found it. I search her face for something. Anything. But she's doing her level best not giving me anything. Not to give me a clue as to where this conversation is going .

"She said there would come a day where something would cause your disbelief to give way to a harsh world in which she was permenantly gone. Said that when that time came, you'd be hit with a whole new level of pain that would try to destroy you. Today's that day right?"

She's right. For all her faults. For all the things she's wrong about. All the things that are so far from perfect, so far from Gill that I feel physically sick, she's right about this. Today's the day I lost her all over again. I don't know what made it happen. But I woke, and for the first time since she left, it was the details of a current case that were running through my brain. Ideas flying all over, my mind working over time to try and make them make sense. And as I always did before, when I needed a place for my ideas to land, needed a place to bring them to life and then pick them apart, I called her. I was still foggy with sleep and already overrunning my system with work that it wasn't until her phone went to voicemail, wasn't until her voice came tumbling through the speaker, that I realised what I had done. And it's exactly like i'm losing her all over again. It knocks the wind out of me, and I have to concentrate hard of pulling in my breath. I haven't called her phone since she left, haven't been able to bring myself to listen to her voice, knowing that I would never hear it in person again.

And finally hearing it, finally hearing her sweet sound, after the painfully slow, and heartbreaking quick speed the weeks since I felt her leave have moved, it takes me back to the day it happened. Takes me back to a place i've barely left, a place so cold and dark it takes everything I have to stay alive. I call her phone over and over. Listening to her words too many times to count. It gets harder every time, but it's like i'm possessed. Unable to stop the sweet torture that her voice brings. I listen until her words, her simple 'you've reached Gillian Foster, leave a message and i'll get back to you as soon as I can' twists into a soundtrack of a broken heart. Until i've listen to it so much that it doesn't sound real. Doesn't sound like her anymore. Until the crushing realisation that she will never 'get back to me' has me doubled over my toilet. Has me unable to stop the sickness that pain brings.

That's when I left. Grabbed my things and ran from the house. Trying to escape everything missing her is doing to me. Trying to rid myself of the shackles her death have me held in. I drive the streets aimlessly until I realise that I can't outrun a ghost. Until I realise that even if I could, I don't want to ourun her. And that's how I wound up here. In her office. Seeking comfort and refuge in a space that used to provide the same for her.

I look up at Wallowski, knowing there's more to come. More for her to say. And as much as it's killing me hearing words from Gillian through her, as much as it's killing me knowing she trusted Wallowksi with her secrets, I know she will have had her reasons. I trust her decision for it to be this way. So I nod, giving Wallowski permission to continue. Giving her permission to end whatever her role in all this is.

"She told me I had to give this to you when that happened. When you lost her again. She said you'd need it".

"What is it", I whisper as I carefully take the delicately wrapped package from her hands.

She smiles sadly at me then. Her eyes filling with tears. Her face twisting with a mixure of guilt and grief.

"It's her Cal. It's Gillian".

* * *

 _Thankyou for continuing to read this story and for those of you who have reviewed; your comments mean alot and are motivating me to get this story finished! In my head there's another two chapters left, but as I write more may appear. Who knows!_


	8. Chapter 8

I don't know what happened to her. Dont know what it is that so cruely ended her. That so suddenly left me with a hole in my word. No-one seems to be able to provide an answer to that particulary harrowing question. And so my imagination fills the blanks. I try and stop it. Try and picture her as the glimmer of hope she was in my life. Try and see nothing but her eyes filled with pride, in the way they only did when she looked at me. Try and hear her voice when it gave me love and comfort above everything else. I try and picture her as the mother she was. The mother she became without even trying. But no matter how hard I try, I can't keep my thoughts from twisting into her final moments. Can't fight the darkness the blocks her light. Can't battle the nightmares that haunt me as I sleep. Can't outrun the ending of her life the boogeyman brings with him when I finally succum to the exhaustion that overwhelms me. More often than not, it's her harrowing screams that fills the emptiness as I sleep. I flail around in the dark, following the sounds of her blood curdling cries for help. But no matter how fast I run, how hard I try I always find her choking our her last breath. I always arrive in time to watch her life leave her body. But i'm always too late to help her. Always too slow, to ill equipped to save her from whatever monster has cut her down, when she had so much left to give. Sometimes there is no-one there. Just me and her, with whatever evil that hurt her being long gone. Other times, there's someone lurking in the shadows. Someone faceless, and laughing as I battle to undo the damage they have done. And sometimes, the evil is me. Sometimes, I look on from above, watching as I curl myself over her body, making sure every last drop of life is squeezed from her.

Those are the worst. The ones that have me waking drenched in a cold sweat. The ones that have me screaming and shaking so loudly that Dad pounds my locked door, threatening to break it down if I don't let him in. But I don't, and eventually, when my sobbing has subsided and i've given him some half hearted indication that i'm ok, even though we both know i'm not, he leaves. Retreating back down the hall, into his own room and whatever particular form of hell Gillian and her ghost have got him trapped in that night. I never let him in, because he'd want to talk. Want to make it better. Want to re-assure me that it was nothing more than a nightmare. And while that's exactly what I need, I don't need it from him. I need it from her. And so I force myself to shut off the light, and find sleep oncemore.

They talk about the calm before the storm. But for me it's the other way around. The nightmare, followed by the dream. She finds me, after each particularly haunting epsiode. Sometimes we're in her office, curled together on her couch. Sometimes we're walking the streets, going no where and neither of us minding at all. Sometimes we're in some café somewhere, huddled over some ridiculously oversize icecream bowl, gossiping about everything and nothing.

The first time we did that, was after i'd had a really crappy day at school. I'd had some massively pointless fight with one of my friends, as teenage girls tend to do. I'd arrived at the offices tears lining my face and pretty certain my entire life was over. She'd taken one look at me and without a word fetched her bag and coat from office, taken my hand and was guiding me to her car. She'd driven to some place that i'd never been too before, left me in a booth to dry my tears and returned five minutes later with two spoons and what I can only describe as mountain of desert. There was icecream, and sauce, brownie chunks and wafers, and a million other things that tasted like heaven and made the world seem an infinitely better place almost immediately. My eyes must have popped out of my face when she sat it down on the table between us, because she'd laughed and said that there was nothing that couldn't be fixed with insane amount pudding. She was right. I left that café an hour later on top of the world. But while she put it down to the sugar, I know that it had nothing to do with icecream and everything to do with her. I later found out that she'd been about to go into a meeting with an incredibly important client when she'd found me in the corridor. Her dissapearing act had lost them the job, and with it a shed load of money. By all accounts, Dad had been ranting and raving and about ready to have her head when we'd returned. But when we rounded the corner of the hallway joining his office and hers, with our arms linked and giggling about who know's what, the only indication that anything had ever been wrong being my slighlty puffy eyes, he let it go. He told me much later, when i'd cornered him about his feelings for her,

that he fell for her even more than he thought possible that day. When her actions had revealled that no client, or case would ever be more important to her than me. Her love for me, cementing her position within his heart forever. It became a tradition pretty quickly after than. Whenever i'd had a bad day or needed cheering up, she drive me to some wacky place and with two spoons and too much sugar together we'd put the world to right. And she never told Dad what we discussed. Never told him what particular crisis of mine had taken hold of her attention, and had her completely unreachable. And despite his pressing her for imformation when she returned me home, he understood. If it was life or death, she'd tell him what was going on. Otherwise, there were some things that only a girls mother needed to know.

Those dreams are my favourite. The ones that bring me most comfort. When after my awful nightmare she meets me in the café with two spoons, a smile and enough pudding that for a short while has me convinced we may be able to find a way to right this particular wrong. Might be able to find a way to bring her back. We talk, and for the short time that we are reunited, she does best to repair what is breaking within me. Does her best to reasure me that it wasn't my fault. Does her best to make me see past her ending, and to the life she shared with me. She never stays long, despite my cries for her not to leave alone again. But before she goes, she wraps me in her arms and whispers her love into me ears. She holds me tight, and tries to give me everything I need to go on without her.

Her voice is so honest, so filled with emotion, her embrace so warm and soft that it seems real. So real that I almost forget it's nothing more than a dream. And sometimes for a brief second or two when I wake from our meeting, I manage to detatch myself from the pain that all but owns me now. Try to take her lingering presence from my dreams and use it to find a way forward.

But when I do, I can't help but think about how dissapointed she would be in us. We barely talk now, me and Dad, and in the moments of reality, I see her before me once more. But unlike in the café, where her smile brings light and joy back to me, this time she's shaking her head. Has dissapointment lining her features. And there's a guilt darkening her eyes. Guilt that I know she would feel, if she could see what it is that she's done too us. I see her, see her sadness at what we've become and I want to fight. Want to run to him, and let him help me. Let us help each other. She would want that. Would want us to be holding onto each other. Would want us to be guiding each other through this never ending storm. I see her, and I know she would want me to be his little girl, would want me to let him piece me back together. But no matter how hard I try, I can't find the strength to be anything other than hers. Can't find the courage to allow myself to let go. It's what she would want, but I can't do it. Can't bring myself to feel anything other than her loss. Anything other than the crushing weight of guilt that I never told her all that she meant to me. That the last words that fell through the phone to her were twisted with hatred and anger. Words that were designed to hurt her favoured over the 'I Love You' that my heart was screaming. Favoured over the 'Come Home, Mom', that my heart was begging for. I used words with such venom I can still taste them. I thought I had time to make it right. Thought that i'd have time to take them back. Thought i'd have time to seek her forgiveness, and replace my faked poison with all the things I really felt. But I never got that chance, and it kills me.

So I don't let Dad comfort me, and I push him away whenever he tries to ease my suffering. It may not be what she would have wanted, but it's what I deserve. I deserve to be lost and alone. So after those few moments of reality, after those few moments where I am present in the real world, I let my anguish role over me once more. Let her absence drag me back into a world that is plagued with guilt and suffering. A world that I cannot escape. A world that, actually, I would not want to escape, even if I could.

It may not be a real world. May be a place purely of my imagination. It may be a darkness that holds for me the cruelest of nightmares and unimaginable pain. But it is a world where she still exists. A world that even if just for a few moments, lets me hear her voice and feel her touch. So it may be hell, but I would choose it over any heaven. It may be hell, may have me isolated from everyone I still have left, but it's a hell that returns me to her. And for that reason, I will never leave.

* * *

Phew! Glad that one's over. I originally planned Emily's voice just to be the beginning of a chapter in which we see Cal dealing with the package from Wallowski, but once I started writing I couldn't help but feel like she needed a section all to herself rather than one that's taken over with whatever's inside the box! Hope you enjoyed. Much love for to you all for continuing to read, despite the dark path we're on and extra special thanks to those who are reviewing.. you and you're words are what make me keep writing!


	9. Chapter 9

"It's her Cal. It's Gillian"

* * *

She doesn't wait for a response. Doesn't wait for me to indicate that i've heard her words. I have, and i'll probably never forget them, but she doesn't need to know that. Doesn't need to know the million different things that are running round my brain. So I remain silent, and let her turn on her heal and exit Gillians office.

Once i'm alone, once i'm not under Wallowski's watchful gaze, which reminds me more and more of Gill every time I feel her staring, I collapse onto the couch that still just about holds the scent of her perfume. The couch that more times that i'd care to admit has held me while the memories of the life I lost, the memories of the the life we shared made lines down my cheeks, invisibly marking me as hers. My immediate reaction to hearing the words 'it's her' had me wanting to tare open the paper and find whatever secrets lay inside. Discover whatever secrets Gill entrusted to the box and to Wallowski, until such a time came when I was so overcome with grief and pain that it was clear even to the untrained eye that I was losing her all over again. But with the package finally in my hands I hesitate. Something holds me back. As far as i'm aware, one of the last things Gillian did was wrap this box and give it to Wallowski with very specific instructions on when it should reach its intended recipient. This wasn't some spur of the moment decision, but part of a wider, well thought out plan that I knew nothing about. A plan that I feel I am only just beginning to scratch the surface of. So she will have spent time carefully choosing the paper. Spent time delicately writing my name on the label, which she then securely fastened to the top. The wrapping of the package may not be as important as what awaits inside, but I know her well enough, knew her well enough, to know that she will have taken her time over this. Made sure that the way in which she presented me with her gift, would mean something to me and only me. Would have given nothing away to Wallowski, while she held onto it. She would have considered the wrapping, knowing the white would bring me to the memory of her explaining her favourite colour to me all those years ago. I close my eyes, and run my fingers over the paper. Imagine her doing the same, until I feel her fingers brushing against mine as we are connected once more through her actions.

My fingers smooth the paper, catching upon the label with my name in her beautiful script until they reach the corners that have been folded and cellotaped with such precision, such accuracy that they are almost invisible to the naked eye. My mind jolts to the memory of Em's 9th birthday. The first birthday she celebrated after Zoe and I divorced. I'd always been hands on with picking presents, ensuring Em got what her little heart desired, but the wrapping had always been left to Zoe, so usually it was her assistant who ending up ensuring the presents were actually surrounded by paper. Which meant that come the first year when wrapping presents also fell to me, I was ill equiped. I went through three rolls, wrapping and re-wrapping, with each present looking worse than the one that came before. I was at my wits end, preparing myself for the horrified look on Em's face when she returned from Zoe's the following morning and was faced with a car-crash of birthday wrapping, when my phone rang. Gill, calling with the details of a case we'd been waiting on. But not ten seconds into the call she stopped. Worry filled her voice as "What's wrong Cal?" came through the receiver. Even from early on she was able to pick up my every emotion even when I barely said a word. With hesitation, I explained my situation and braced myself for her laughter to fill my ears. But instead she replied, "Give me 15 minutes" before hanging up the phone. And true to her word, 15 minutes later she was at my door armed with bags of paper and ribbons. Half an hour after arriving, in the middle of my living room stood a pile of the most beautifully wrapped gifts. So professional looking in their precision that I joked she must have a secret job as a christmas elf. Her laughter made my heart beat faster in my chest, the joy that spread across her face warming a new house that, until now, had never felt like a home. Watching her come alive at my stupid humour, I knew I would stop at nothing to see her animated like that as often as possible. And so started the jokes, that even when she was at her angriest with me, could always bring a smile to her face.

She had been saving me from the moment she met me, even if i didn't know it. But that night, as she saved me from being embarrassed by my daughter, signified the start of me asking for her help. Started the beginning of me wanting her help. She saved me more times that I can count, both professionally and personally over the years, and as I run my fingers over the package I hold, I can't help but wonder whether she's about to save me again. Can't help but wonder if this package is the rescue she knew i'd need. The rescue I didn't see coming.

I end up leaving her office, and the comfort it provides. Decide that while I am often able to find some tiny degree of restbite from the continuing ache by enclosing myself within her space, this is not the right place to open the package. Not surrounded by glass walls, and a staff that are capable of reading things that I don't want them to see. A staff who are also broken, and in need of gluing back together. A staff who are searching for answers, relentless in their quest for information that may bring some sort of closure. Not that I blame them. She meant alot to them, even if they didn't show it as they should have. They're alot like me that way. Although none of them carry the same level of regret as I. None of them wish more than I that there was a way to

turn back the clock. A way to go back and reveal to her the true magnitude of my feelings for her. But that doesn't take away from what they feel. So here is not the place. Not when, at any minute, one of them could stumble across me and try and take away whatever piece of herself she is giving me.

I drive the streets, as I find myself doing more and more as time moves forward without her. I consider going home. But Em's there, and this isn't something I want her to see. I don't know what i'm going to find beneath this wrapping and so I want to be alone. Want to be able to discover whatever it is Gill wanted to share in private, giving myself time to process it, before deciding whether to share it. Em's haunted enough as it is. Her screams threatening to cut through the silence of the house at any given moment. And while I seem incapable of doing anything to provided her any relief from her nightmares, I am capable of preventing further damage. So not home.

I end up at the cemetery. I haven't been here since her funeral. Haven't been able to bring myself to come back to the place where she rests. I know if she were here she'd tell me to stop being so cowardly. Tell me get it over with. She'd probably go as far as giving me some nonsense of it being like ripping off a bandaid. Not visiting doesn't make it any less real Cal, she would whisper as she wrapped an arm around my wasit. The thought of how she used to tease, how she used to ground me with contact bringing a smile my face. And she'd be right. Not visiting doesn't make is less real. Doesn't mean it didn't happen. But by not visiting, i've been saving myself from the heartbreak of seeing her name on a headstone. Saving myself from the ache of having to look at the stupid lump of stone that is the only permanent indication that she ever lived. And while I know it's going to hurt like hell being here, as I pull my car into the parking lot, I know i've made the right decision. Know that this is where I need to be for this.

It doesn't take me long to find her. The position we chose for her ingrained in my mind forever. A corner plot, with views that she would have loved. Views that make you forget the busy city that she loved to escape. I hated every second, but I made sure we were leaving her somewhere she would be happy. I place the bunch of White Calla Lillies I brought with me alongside the other flowers the line her grave. Her favourite as an apology for my absence. I may not have been here, but the number of floral arrangements indicating she has been anything but alone. But through all of the colours, it's the pink daisies catch my eyes. There's only one person who would bring those. And I hadn't even known she'd been here. Em.

She'd had her appendix out when she was 8, not long after we'd started the business. They'd only met a handful of times at that point, but Gill had shown up to the hospital anyway, her affection for my daughter evident even from so early on. She'd arrived armed with the biggest bunch of pink daisies i'd ever seen, and as Gill handed them to her, Em's face had lit up and she declared that they were her absolute most definite favourite flower ever. I consider teading the card, wanting to have at least some insight into my daughters thoughts. But I stop myself. Remembering all the times she confided in Gill in the past. All the times she turned to Gill for support and guidance. All the times Gill cared for her as only a mother could. The wind blows, and i'm almost certain it carries Gills voice with it. Almost certain I hear her words reminding me to have faith in Em. She's a smart girl Cal, she used to say. Trust her. She'll come to you when she's ready. I nod my head, and step away from the flowers and the card they hold.

I settle myself on the ground, and place the package infront of me. It feels right, opening it here. As close to her as I can physically get. It's what she would want. I'm sure of it. She may not have been able to give it to me herself, but whatever is inside this package, she went to a hell of a lot of effort to make sure I got it. She might not have been able to give it to me herself, but that doesn't mean she didn't want too. I don't know what took her from me. Still don't have the answers to why she decided it had to be this way. I don't know what i'm going to find when I unwrap the package, or how it will make me feel. But she had a plan. And while there is alot I am unclear on, of one thing I am absolutely certain; I trust her.

So with a lump in my throat, and my hands shaking almost uncontrollably, I gently rip the paper. With my heart hammering within my chest, I remove the lid to the box and come face to face with the first piece of her puzzle.

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading! This chapter went off in a different direction that i'd planned again, but i've learnt to just go wherever my brains takes me when writing. The number of chapters we have before the last one seems to keep growing, but while you're all happy for me to continue (?) then I will! Likewise, if you're sick of my ramblings on this fic, then let me know and i'll cut it short!_


	10. Chapter 10

I watch him, as he settles himself down next to her headstone and begins to open the package. But after that I turn away. This is between them. Between her and him, and despite my instructions to make sure he actually proceeds with opening it, i'm under no illusion that she would have wanted me to bare witness to what's inside. Nor would she want me to watch as the first part of her plan is revealled to him. So I walk away, and return to my car. It's a nice day, and so I opt to balance myself on the hood, taking in the beauty of a place that holds so much tragedy.

It's funny. When she told me this is the place he would come when I handed it over to him, i'd had my doubts. He didn't seem like that kind of man to me. The kind who would believe in her grave being the place he would feel closest to her. But she'd been so certain. So sure of herself that I hadn't bothered to question her. After all, she was the one that knew him better than I. And this was her plan. She was allowed to have her theories about how he would act. And if anyone could come up with the correct answers, well it would be her. Not me. But as the days turned to weeks, and it became clear that he had no plans to set foot near the cemetery; as it became evident that it held too much sorrow for him to handle, I became more certain that I was right, and her wrong. And not for the first time since I climbed on board her train, and agreed to be a part of something so much bigger than me, I began to question my decision to help. Began to question whether or not I was doing the right thing. Whether she was doing the right thing. Because if she was already wrong, this early on, then maybe she was wrong about this being the only way. Maybe she was wrong about the outcome of all this secrecy. But when he walked into the office looking exactly as she described he would, I put my faith in her. In how well she knows him. How much she would do anything to help him, and I gave him the package. And I was right to do what she asked of me. Not to back out before this had even had a change to begin. Because she was right. After sitting in her office doing nothing but running his fingers over the paper and getting lost in memories of her, he grabbed his things and left. And after following him round streets the led no-where, he made the decision she knew he would, and he brought us here.

I'm so lost in thought, so caught up in her plan for him, for them, and the role that she wants me to play in it all that it takes me a minute to register the noise that it spreading across the cemetery. It's coming from the far corner. The corner that holds her, and at this moment, Cal too. I rack my brain, going over everything I saw when I watched him make his way to her. There was no-one else around. I throw a look over my shoulder scanning the car park. Empty, apart from my car and his. So unless someone has managed to sneak in here completely unnoticed, then the noise is coming from her grave. Coming from Cal. I panic. My initial thought that whatever she's had me give to him has opened up a whole new road of torture that he hadn't been prepared for. That her plan is ripping apart what little of him there is left. That the noise I can hear is him attempting to rid his body of the pain she is still causing him. I want to move closer. Want to do something to offer him some form of support. But I know that he won't want it. Would shy away from my touch. My efforts wasted on him. My presence burning him because I am not her. And whatever his reaction, this is still between them. Still a private exchange between two people who had shared so much, and yet still had so much more to give one another. And I shouldn't interupt that. Even if every human instinct I have is telling me I should. I stand rooted to the spot, struggling with my next move. I battle with what I think she would want me to do. What he would want me to do. What being a decent person suggests I should do. I'm about to move forward, to get eyes on him. Make a better call from assessing the scene. But before I have chance to move, it grows louder. The noise of the wind easing to leave nothing but him filling the air. And as it does, I realise that I am not hearing a man falling apart, not listening to the gut wrenching sounds of anguish and sorrow. I am listening to laughter. Uncontrollable laughter. And it catches me off guard. Because whenever i've pictured the moment where I gave him the little pieces of her left behind, I had never imagined it causing him to laugh. But it has. It's caused him to laugh in a way i've never hear before. A way, that after the way he's been since her passing, I never could have envisioned hearing from him. Especially here of all places. But there's no mistaking what i'm hearing.

I sneak my way forward and away from my car. Curiosity driving me forward, despite knowing I shouldn't be a part of this moment. Shouldn't force myself in any further than she wanted me. But I can't help it. I have to let my eyes see what my ears are hearing. I round the corner, and stop to the side of a huge tree. He's directly in my eye line, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him before me. He's clutching a piece of paper in one hand like his life depends on it. The other hand is resting in her headstone, making them one. Connecting them, as they always should have been. His head is thrown back and his shoulders are bouncing up and down as the sounds of amusement leave his body. Gone is the image of despair that he has embodied since her departure. There is a lightness about him. A carefree feel to his movements that I didn't know he was capable of showing. A contentment that i'm sure only she could ever bring out in him. Whatever the peace of paper he is holding has on it, it's given him something that despite all our trying, none of us have been able to give him. Restbite. From the agony of missing her. And as I turn back toward my car, ensuring I do not ruin this moment for him, I no longer have any doubts surrounding her plan. I am no longer worried about what comes next. It will work. Of course it will work.

A wave of guilt washes over me for ever doubting her. For doubting that she was acting in his best interests. She abandoned eveything for him. Walked away from the only person who she would have wanted to comfort her in her final moments. She sacraficed everything she needed in order to help him. She left this world alone. Died without the man she so clearly loved by her side, to give him everything he doesn't even know he needs. And I had the audacity to question her. So as I settle back on the hood of my car, I whisper an apology to the sky. Hoping that my regret for doubting her, my shame for almost disrespecting her wishes reaches her, wherever it is she has come to rest.

He sits with her for hours. Long after his laughter dies out, cloaking the cemetery in silence once more. Many come and go, visiting those who are gone but not forgotten, before he emerges from the corner that she now calls home. It's been so long since we arrived that the sun is dissapearing behind the horizon as he finally makes his way towards me, signalling the end of another day without her. There was a moment, as I sat here waiting for him, if I wondered whether he might never leave. Considering that in having finally found the courage to come to her, he may not have the heart to leave her alone in the dark again. But eventually he does. Eventually he finds whatever it is he needs to walk away from her.

I don't know how he's going to react to me being here. I'm prepared for him to fully ignore me. For him to get in his car without even acknowledging my existence. He does that alot. Not that I blame him. It's not me her wants afterall. But he comes to a stop infront of me, and I think perhaps i'm in for one of his verbal bashing. So I do my best to prepare myself for his anger at me following him to come flying out of him mouth at me. But instead, he smiles at me. It's not a real smile. Not one that reaches his eyes, as i've learnt is an indicator of true happiness. No matter what she gave him today, she was never going to be able to undo all of his suffering. But it's more than he's been able to give in a long time. And i'm grateful for whatever is is she's done; whatever it is she's given him that, even if just for moment, has given him a reason to try.

He shuffles back and forth on his feet, as she told me he tends to do when he's nervous. He fiddles with the lid of the package, the piece of paper he was clutching when i'd seen him earlier, safely returned to the home she had given it. Hidden from the world, and from those she hadn't intended to see it. Clever man, I can't help thinking. Cherish these final pieces of her. Share them only with who you must, if anyone at all.

"It's not the only one is it?", he questions quietly. And i'm sure, if I could hear things in his voice like she had been able too, i'd find his words to be laced with all sorts of emotions. Find his voice pitching with the anguish and misery that accompanies his heavy heart. But I think I would hear something else. Hear the small beginnings of hope, trying to fight their way to the surface of him.

"No", I reply simply. Because there is no other answer to his question. It's not the only one.

"When do I..? How do I..?"

Maybe he's shocked by the realisation that she hasn't abandoned him as i'm sure he thought. Maybe he's tormented by the idea of what's to come. Maybe it's both. I don't know. But whatever it is causes him to stop and starts, as he struggles to find the right words.

"Trust her Cal"

He finds my eyes, searches my face. Studies my features for as long as he can bare to not have her at the forefront of his mind before he nods, seemingly accepting my answer to his half formed questions. He turns away from me then. Turns himself back in the direction he came from. Back towards her. I don't think i'm supposed to hear what he says next. He's not talking to me anymore. He's returned his attention to her, and only her. But that doesn't stop me catching the words as they slip from his mouth into the air. As they slip from his heart, and dissapear into the night searching for her.

"Always, love", he whispers. "Always".

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Don't worry, you'll find out what was one the piece of paper soon. It just didn't fit to have it coming from Wallowskis point of view, so you'll have to wait a little bit longer! Thanks for those who have left reviews; your words help me power through when writers block hits. Which it does, often!_


	11. Chapter 11

I want to be mad at her for following me here. Want to lash out at her for walking a very dangerous line around my privacy. But I don't want anything to take away from the moment I find myself in. Don't want anyone to take away what Gill has given me. So instead of ignoring her, and letting anger rage within me; instead of approaching her ready to attack, I smile. It's not genuine. Not like the laughter that was escaping from me a few hours before, as I opened the package and found the treasure hidden inside. But it's a smile none the less. It's effort, on my part. And she knows it. Appreciates it too, from little I can be bothered to see on her face. I try and make a mental note to be nicer to her. To try and forgive her for being something she cannot change. For being the wrong woman. I'm not making any promises, not guaranteeing that i'll succeed in seeing past who she isn't. But I know I should atleast try. Because it's becoming clearer by the second that she's a part of something I knew nothing about. Becoming clearer that she's putting up with me, not for herself, but because she's respecting the dying wishes of a woman she barely knew. She didn't ask for any of this, and i'm sure she'd rather be anywhere but here. Anywhere but having to deal with me and my inability to even begin to deal with losing Gill. So more effort.

When she'd first handed it over to me, I thought that would be it. Thought that this was the only thing she had to give me. Thought that I was holding everything that was left of Gill. Thought I was being given all the answers. But once I opened the package, once I came face to face with what it held for me, my initial thoughts gave way to the suspicions that this was just the beginning. She confirms it with the swift nod of her head and one simple word. Confirms what both scares me and offers me some form of comfort. I'm nervous for what's to come. About the journey that Gill is going to take me on with whatever else she has left behind. Whatever else she has in store for me. But i'm relieved too. My suffering soothed somewhat, in the knowledge that she hadn't just walked away from me. Encouraged that she has things that she wants to give to me, even if she was unable to hand them over herself.

I leave the cemetery, and once i'm satisfied that this time i'm not being tailed by Wallowski, I head in the direction of Gill's home, which until now I have also avoided. I let myself in, using the key that she originally gave me for use in emergencies, but that I ended up using a lot more frequently. She did the same with the key I gave her to my place. We just sort of slipped into it. Stopped ringing the bell and waiting for the other to invite us in. We started letting ourselves in, a silent agreement that we no longer needed permission to enter the other's space. She was welcome in my home any time she wished. And I in hers.

As far as i'm aware, no-one has been here since the last time she herself locked the door and walked away. I came here every day after she walked out of the offices. Sat outside, in the hopes that she's return from where ever it was she was hiding and we could work through whatever it was that had made her leave. She never did though, and since the morning that the officers arrived to notify me, I too have not returned. Not even been able to bring myself to drive near her road.

It was Torres who had stepped up and offered to come here, when the funeral home had called asking me to provide something for her to be burried in. When i'd made it clear that I could not enter her home yet. I simply wasn't ready to be there if she wasn't there herself. But in the end no one had needed to go in. Emily, in her state of shock had started turning rooms in our house upside down looking for any trace of Gill, and had found the outfit she had left in the wardrobe of my spare bedroom. I was sure it hadn't been there last time I had looked, but over the years clothes of mine had ended up at her home, and hers at mine. It was her red dress, the one that hugged her curves perfectly and when she wore it, had me completely incapable of taking my eyes off her. It was the one, that had I been faced with her entire collection of clothes, I would have picked. And so I shrugged off my doubt and handed it over to the funeral home. But after today, i'm sure I was right in my inital thought. That dress had not been there the last time i'd had reason to look in that wardrobe, which was the day before she walked away. She had put it there for me to find. It was the first part of her plan, I just hadn't been able to see it.

I push open her door, fighting against weeks of unopened mail. Mail from those who don't know that she's gone. It's funny, in a way. How her mail has kept coming. How the world has kept turning. How for some, her death has meant nothing. And for other, it has meant everything. There's a layer of dust coating the surfaces, of what was once such a well kept home. She'd be dissapointed I think. She left me this place, the heart of her and i've done nothing but let it sit around collecting dirt. She left me most of it, it turned out. Her home. Her shares in the Lightman Group. Her personal possessions. She had her savings transferred into a trust for Emily when she turns Twenty-One, which broke my heart and gave me a painful sort of hope all at once. Knowing that whatever happened, however this terribly story comes to an end, she has made sure Em is taken care of. Even if just financially. That I knew she had done deliberately. But with the way things had ended between us, the rest of it i'd put down to her not having had time to change her will. To rectify it and cut me out, the way she had done in her life. But as I walk through her home, that even after all this time still smells like her, still feels like her, I know that it was no accident that she left the rest to me. She was organised. Had put her affairs in order. Was prepared for the ending none of us had seen coming. And leaving me her things, leaving her money for Em, it's all part of the plan. Another piece to the puzzle that I still don't understand.

I work my way through the house, scanning each room in search for what I came here for. Something that I know is here. Something that I know she has treasured since the moment it was given to her. I find it eventually, on her bedside table, and I kick myself for not looking here first. Of course this is where she would have kept it. It's a picture, framed in wood that is covered in glitter and flowers and tiny paper hearts. A picture of my girls, held in a frame decorated in a way only a child could decorate something. It's one of the oldest pictures of them, but even after all this time it's one of my favourites. They're making cupcakes in my kitchen, from a time when we were still in the throws of starting the business and working from home. An inset day had meant Em was with us, and despite my every intention to not let her being home distract us too much from our work, Em had Gill wrapped her round her little finger from the second she'd walked through the front door that morning. They didn't know I was taking the picture, and so they're not looking at the camera. Instead, they're frozen in time as I captured the moment just after Gill blew a handfull of icing sugar into the air. They're grinning at each other, both covered in cake mix and the perfect imagine of happiness.

It had been Em's idea to gift it to Gill and she'd spent hours working on the frame, giving everything her eight year old self was capable of, in order to make it perfect. When i'd asked her why she wanted to give it to Gill as a present, she'd fixed me with a look that only a child is capable of giving and then a huge smile had broken across her face. "Because Daddy" she had said, "I want to do something nice for her. Like she always does for me". Gillian had been so overcome with emotion when Em given it to her, that tears had filled her eyes instantly and she'd been completely lost for words. That picture is my favourite of them, because it captured the moment their relatioship began. Because it shows the start of a friendship so beautiful and honest, that they so quickly became family. And I know that it's for the exact same reasons as mine that they both adore this image.

I don't stay at her house much longer after I find the picture. Being in her space threatening to undo the brief glimps of light her gift had given me in the cemetery, but it's still late by the time I get home. Much later than i've been home since I made the decision to go back to work. It hadn't been a decision i'd made lightly. Even in the daze that my grief had me in, I hadn't thought it right to leave Em when she was so clearly broken. But I hadn't been able to stay locked up in the house any longer. Needed to escape, even if it was just to the office, and another place that held crippling memories. And I know it's another thing she woud have wanted. She'd given so much to the group, and she wouldn't want all her hard work, all her sacrafices, to have been in vein. So I went back, and I worked. Going about cases on auto-pilot, giving just enough attention to clients to keep them happy. Keep us from going out of business. But everything else, all the paper work and finances, i've been avoiding. I've even been considering hiring someone new, to take care of all those things that I can't stand.

But no matter what, i've made it home every night well before dark. Made it home for a dinner that neither Em or myself really have the stomach for. Made it home for another night of Em locking herself in her room. Another night where I sit alone, with just my pain for company. Which is why I nearly drop everything i'm holding when I walk through the door and i'm faced with Em.

"Where the hell were you", she shouts. "You're late. I tried calling you and you didnt answer".

There's pain twisting her face, and worry evident in voice. I'm shocked because this is the most i've gotten out of her in weeks. Because i'm late, and she's noticed. I'm late and she's angry about it. She looks at me expectantly. Think Cal. She tried to call. My phone. I pull it from my pocked. The screen's black.

"Sorry, darlin'. Look's like the the battery went. I didn't realise".

"Where were you?" She questions as she turns away from me, and flops herself down on the couch. "I thought.." she tails off, and a stab of guilt hits me right in the chest. Suddenly it makes sense. Her concern. The way she all but attacked me the second I walked through the door. I was home late. She couldn't get hold of me. And given the events of the last few months, her poor broken heart, all tangled up with grief and loss had jumped straight to the conclusion that something bad must have happened again. Something bad must have happened to me too.

"Here" I say, as I lower myself down next to her. "I have something for you".

"Where did you get this?" She asks, her voice nothing above a whisper as her fingers trace the little hearts that line the frame.

"Her bedside table", I answer studying her face as she absorbs the information.

"You went to her house?"

I nod in response.

A sad smile crosses her face as she studies the image that the frame holds. "I can't believe she kept it".

"Are you kidding Em. There's no way she ever would have thrown it out. That picture meant the world to her. Just like you did. Don't you ever forget that".

She nods, seemingly satisfied with my words, before pointing to Gill's package that i've placed on the table infront of us.

"What's that?" She questions.

"That" I say, taking a few seconds to choose my next words carefully "is a gift from Gill. I got given it today".

Confusion and worry cloud her face, so I go on, doing my best to explain what little I know about Gill's plan. She sits in silence for a while, taking in the information i've just given her. I watch her closely, looking for any clue about how it's making her feel. Studying her face, looking for some indication as to whether telling her was the right decision. After a few moments, her eyes dart back to the package and I know the question that is coming next, before it even forms on her lips.

"What did she give you?" Her voice is quiet, but behind the sorrow that still marks her words, there is also a hint of something else. A hint of who she was before despair took hold of her. A hint of the daughter who could not keep her nose out of my business.

"See for yourself" I respond, as I hand the package to her.

She carefully peals back the already torn wrapping and removes the lid to reveal what is inside. Her eyes fill with tears as she recognises Gill's handwriting that marks the first piece of paper she comes across.

You can't afford to hire an accountant Cal. So buckle up. You're in for one hell of a ride.

She looks confused, and so I take the paper from her, and nod at her to retrieve the item that remains in the box.

Gillian Fosters' manual to managing The Lightman Group. Otherwise to be known as: 'A step by step guide for all things paperwork, so Cal doesn't cock it up'.

And just like when i'd first laid eyes upon it, in the cemetery hours ago, she can't control the laughter that comes erupting out of her. And it's a laughter so contagious that I can't help but do the same. We laugh so hard that we both have to holds our sides, and by the time the amusement subsides, there are tears lining both our cheeks. But for the first time in what seems like forever, they aren't tears of sadness. And you don't have to be a mind reader or a genius; don't have to be able to read faces or voices to know that this is exactly the reaction Gill was aiming for, when she put this first package together. And she's succeeded. With one perfectly timed gift, she's done what I thought would be impossible. She's returned laughter to our home.

"I bet you've already considering hiring someone to do all of that stuff for you, haven't you?" she starts, as she struggles to catch her breath. It's more of a statement than a question, but she waits for my nod to confirm what she's said is true before she continues. "God, she knows you so well". There's amusement in her voice still, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I respond to her statement.

"That she does, love. That she does".

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 _Hope you enjoy! Found this one more of a challenge than most of the other chapters. Hope you weren't dissapointed with what was in this package! Just seemed to me like Gill wouldn't dump a load of heavy stuff on Cal first. She'd try and return his smile first.. because whenever he smiled, she smiled too!_


	12. Chapter 12

I am so sorry for the delay in this update.. boy when writers block hits, it sure does hit. Have been back and fourth on this chapter for what feels like forever. I've always had a very clear plan for where this fic is going, and I know exactly what I want to write, but every time i've come to write this chapter it's never come out in a way I've been happy with. So i've been ignoring it. But today, I finally had a few solid, uninterrupted hours to work on it, and I think i've finally managed to get myself and this story back on track! Thank you for much for all your support and wonderful reviews on previous chapters, and for being patient with me while I figured out the writing mess in my head (i've started re-watching LTM, which might be the reason i've finally gotten over the writers block)!

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The weeks pass slowly, and with them the feelings that she has created within us both with her package. We were ok for the first few days after 'the manual' had arrived. Somehow, just having that piece of her in our home made it seem like she was still here. Like she was still with us. Her sense of humour and caring nature more evident than ever, allowing her to take hold of my heart and easing the pain her loss is causing every time I catch a glimpse of 'the manual' which has taken centre stage on the mantle piece in the living room, next to the picture of her and Em that I had retrieved from her home. But the laughter and warmth that had begun to ware down the edges of the darkness neither of us have been able to escape since she left us, and pointed us to a place where we were able to grieve and live together once more didn't last long. And with every day that passes without another piece of her puzzle, another small piece of her, we both retreat back into ourselves and the bleak world that we exist in without her colour to brighten it.

Wallowski avoids me every chance she gets. She walks in the opposite direction, creating a distance when I can't help but watch her face, instead of focusing on the next case that should be holding my attention. She feels me staring. Feels my eyes burning as I search her for any clue I might find on her surface. She puts up with it for the first week or so. Allows me to study every inch of her, looking for any part of Gill and her plan, that might be escaping. But she holds her ground, her mask hiding whatever part is to come next. And when my glare doesn't let up, then she takes a few steps back. She doesn't disappear properly, because her leaving isn't part of Gill's plan. But she does create some distance. Starts working out of her office at the station a few hours of the day, instead of housing herself in the walls of the group, just for a moment of rest bite from the constant and unrelenting questions and accusations that I know are burning behind my eyes. I want to be able to offer her some relief myself. Want to be able to turn in the opposite directions, and not follow her every move. Want to not make her cringe under the silent demands I can feel firing out of me. I want to keep the promise I made to myself in the grave yard. I want to try. I really do. I want to be able to allow her to live and work as herself, and not as the slave to my emotions Gill seems to have made her. But I can't. I can't look at her and see anything other than the plan that Gill has put in place. Can't look at her and see anything but everything I do not know. Everything that I need to know. Everything that she knows, and has known for longer than I can stomach. She knows what comes next and it's slowly killing me. Destroying the fragments of me that are not already lost in the black that has taken over my life. She has all the pieces of my Gillian that are left in this world, and she is keeping them from me. Keeping them locked away until who knows when. And I understand why. I guess. She's doing it for Gill. Keeping her promise and doing this Gill's way. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. I've always been impatient. Always needed to know everything in the shortest of time frames. And this is a million times worse. Because this time, I am not waiting on the truth of a stranger, but rather the truth of the only person I ever should have been listening for. This time, I am not waiting on the truth of a stranger, but rather the only truth that ever should have mattered. So, while I want to understand and allow Wallowski space to breath, I can't. She has all of Gill that there is, and she's keeping her from me.

Well, keeping her from us. Because after the reaction that 'the manual' and this heart-breaking, yet painfully beautiful, plan she has put in place got from our sweet Em, I know this was never just about me. I know that these packages, or gifts, or whatever it is they are, were never just indented for me never. Never just about easing my pain. I know by the small glimmer of hope that Emily felt, by the small glint that returned to her ever if just for a few moments, that Gill never intended to just guide me through this difficult time. She was thinking about Emily and what her loss would do to her, just as much as she was thinking about me and my grief, as she went about her final days without us. And of course she was. Because it's Gill and it's Em, and the way the loved each other is beyond something even I can understand.

But that doesn't stop the surprise that jolts through me when the next package to be delivered is not addressed to me as I had expected it to be, but rather to Emily herself. I find it on the doorstep, when I go for the morning paper, the day that Em's college acceptance letters arrives. A day that so many high school graduates and their families have been waiting for. A day that Em had marked on Gill's calendar months ago, right after she'd applied to her chosen colleges. She's jumped around Gill's office, excited as hell at the thought of the day when she would find out which college she would be heading too. "I'm putting it on your calendar Gill", Em had sung as she grabbed a pen and marked the date. "So you don't forget", she'd finished dramatically, before throwing her bag over her shoulder and shouting a 'love you' as she disappeared down the corridor. I'd stared after Em long after she had disappeared out of view, my mind wandering back to a time when she had needed me for even the most basic of things. I was so lost in the memories of Em's tiny little fingers letting go of mine as she took her first steps away from me, that it wasn't until I felt Gill's fingers running down my arm that I remembered where I was, and turned to face her. Her eyes were soft, with a small smile pulling the corners of her mouth upwards. "You know Cal", she'd started as her delicate fingers continued their journey up and down my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake, "Just because she's excited, doesn't mean she isn't going to miss you". She'd tilted her head, as she watched her words sink in. As she watched my face with such intent I had almost felt see-through, which truth be told I felt most of the time that she looked at me. I don't know what it is she saw on my face, but her smile grew and a laugh had escaped her throat. "Let her be excited Cal", she'd said as she turned on her heal and headed towards the door of her office, "If you think about it, it really is exciting".

And she was right, of course. Going to college is exciting. Daunting, and scary and a million other things for both kids and their parents, but exciting too. And the day those letters arrive telling you which school you're in too, well that day is at the centre of all that excitement. It's a day that should have been at the forefront of both mine and Em's minds, but that had escaped us both while we tried, and mostly failed, to battle through a life without Gill. But of course, Gill being who she was, it had not slipped her mind. She had remembered, exactly as Em had wanted her too. I'm stunned for a few moments, that even with everything that she had clearly been going through, that this momentous occasion hadn't slipped her mind. But I shouldn't be, not really. There's nothing about Em's life that Gill could ever forget. There's nothing about Em, period, that Gill would allow herself to forget. Not even while she was battling with her own mortality in a way no one should ever deal with the impending loss of life; alone.

It's a bigger box this time. Far bigger than the previous one that had held 'the manual'. It's wrapped in a beautiful silver paper that is shimmering in the early morning sunlight. The way the light bounces off it, casting patterns of light across the porch, reminds me of the way the sun used to bounce off Gill's skin. Cases that had us working through the night, and into the break of a new day, were always my favourite for one simple reason: I got to watch her come alive under the rise of the sun. The way it would dance across her face, creating a beauty like no other right before my eyes, is a memory I will hold dear until time itself stands still. There's a pink tag holding Em's name in Gill's perfect script, signalling who the package is for. But I don't need to see her name to know this gift isn't for me. It's the same wrapping that every gift Gill has ever given Em has been wrapped in, so it's abundantly clear that this is all about Em.

It's propped at the side of the front door, with the college letters place carefully on top. I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face at the level of planning I know this particular situation will have required. About how much effort she must have gone to, in order to for Wallowski to pull this all together. How much time she must have spent finding out which address Em had chosen to have the letters sent to. A shudder courses through my body at the thought of what might have happened had the letter's been destined for Zoe's mailbox and not mine, but I quickly push it away. She would never have bought Zoe into this. I know that, and so I know that this package was always meant for my doorstep. It may be addressed to Emily, but it's indirectly for me aswell. Her knowing that I would take comfort in her love for Em. So even if the letters had been headed for Zoe's, she would have accounted for it. Found a way to make it work with the package and the letter's arriving separately. But, it's definitely better this way.

I reach down to retrieve the package and the letters, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes from the back of my throat at the though of Wallowski having to drag herself out of bed and over here. Of her having to wait for the mail man, and then rummage through the mail box in order to have the letters ready and waiting with the package, all before either myself or Em were awake. And all on Gill's orders. Because I have absolutely no doubt that Gill will have given the step-by-step instructions of exactly when and how this gift needed to be presented. Good girl Gill, I can't help thinking. Make her run around for you.

"Em, get down here", I shout up the stairs as I kick the door shut behind me and make my way to the living room, armed with another piece of the puzzle. I throw myself down on the couch, making sure to do no damage to the beautifully wrapped package. I took so much from the paper that held the first pieces of Gill I got back, and I know that Em will do the same.

"Em", I shout louder. I know she heard me the first time, but she's slipping back into ignoring me more often than not, and so I shout again throwing my voice with more urgency and a tone of curiosity I know she will pick up on, in the hopes of enticing her from her bed and down the stairs. I take in my surroundings as I listen to the thud of Em's feet as they hit the floor above my head. My eyes land upon the picture and 'manual' on the mantel piece and I realise I'm seated in the exact spot as I was all those weeks ago when I first let Em in on what little I knew about what Gill had it store for us. I still have no new information, despite all my efforts to get Wallowski to let something slip, but the arrival of a new package refuels the hope I had felt back in the graveyard. There's been a long wait between the first and the second of her gifts, but now that the second has arrived, I can relax some what. It might be happening a lot slower than I would like, but it is happening. She's still giving herself to me. To us. It's just going to happen on her time scale, rather than mine.

"What?", Em throws at me as she stomps her way past the living room and into the kitchen. I hear the clattering of china against metal as she moves around the space. I smile into the noise, relishing in the fact that there are some things that even grief cannot change. Smile into the fact that, despite everything, my usually charming daughter always has monster-like qualities before her first coffee of the day. 'Just like Gill' flashes through my mind before I can stop it. The similarities between them still stun me, even now.

"There's mail here for you, love", I reply. I try to make it sound as casual as I can, but even I can't control the way my voice pitches with emotion at the mention of what's in front of me.

"You dragged me down here for mail?" Her voice is filled with annoyance at being removed from the hell-like sanctuary her bedroom has become. But there's curiosity too. She heard the change in my voice, and she wants to know what's caused it. But the look on her face as she rounds the door, her eyes already searching the room, lets me know that she already suspects what the mail is.

"No love", I respond quietly, my tongue sitting heavy in my mouth as I struggle over the next words. She eyes me suspiciously, waiting on the rest of my sentence. My fingers grip the box, as I lift it up from the floor and into Em's line of sight. I give it a gentle shake, before extending the package out to her and continuing.

"No love", I repeat, "Not me. This time, it was Gill".

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 _Thanks so much for reading, and again i'm super sorry about how long it took me to give you the next part of this story. I hope you all found it worth the wait, and if not i'm super sorry about that too! Thank you for sticking with me, and I promise it will not be anywhere near as long to wait for the next chapter!_


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